


When Someone Believes In You

by marysuepoots



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Adoption, Alternate Universe - Foster Family, Alternate Universe - High School, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Child Abuse, F/F, Family, Foster Care, Hurt Skye | Daisy Johnson, Kid Fic, Phil Coulson & Melinda May are Skye's Parents, Skye | Daisy Johnson Needs a Hug, rated M but no smut, skimmons - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-31
Updated: 2021-03-02
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:01:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 9
Words: 18,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28440570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marysuepoots/pseuds/marysuepoots
Summary: It all began with the slam of a classroom door and the angry eyes of a student who had nothing to lose and no-one to love. Mr Coulson did not accept that any student was a 'bad student' or a 'lost cause' and Skye did not think she could be anything else, but it's funny what can happen when someone believes in you.
Relationships: Jemma Simmons/Skye | Daisy Johnson, Melinda May & Skye | Daisy Johnson, Phil Coulson & Melinda May & Skye | Daisy Johnson, Phil Coulson & Skye | Daisy Johnson, Phil Coulson/Melinda May
Comments: 79
Kudos: 284





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> TRIGGER WARNINGS: This fic will contain somewhat graphic depictions and implications of violence. It also includes allusions to rape/sexual violence (but NO graphic rape scenes). Please read at your own discretion. I will be including chapter-specific content warnings also.
> 
> The heart of this story is the family bond formed over time between Skye and her teachers. I promise the chapters will become positive towards the end! However, it is essentially angst, so it will also be very sad. There will be some Skimmons, but the focus of the story is on Coulson and May rather than a romantic relationship. Hope you enjoy :)

Warnings: Mentions of injury. 

**

October 4th. A blustery day in Rogersfield, Pennsylvania. It was not a remarkable date, nor a remarkable town. For three people the date held something special, but not for a reason one might expect. There was no fanfare, no disaster, no wedding, or funeral. Nothing but the slam of a classroom door, and the angry eyes of a student who had nothing to lose and no-one to love.

October 4th was a typical Monday morning in almost every regard. Phil had cooked a full breakfast fry-up for him and May, wanting to start the week off on the right foot. They had arrived in school as early as usual. May had disappeared for her daily tai-chi and he had settled down with his second coffee of the day to grade his Freshman US history papers.

Sometime later the first bell rang, and his Juniors shuffled into class. As per usual, Fitz and Simmons were the first to arrive, eager-eyed and brimming with questions on the topic of the week. Of course, he was always happy to oblige. It was a shame that their small school couldn’t afford AP classes in every subject. FitzSimmons were quite the exceptional students, and he would be delighted if his students could even muster half of FitzSimmons’ enthusiasm for World History on a Monday morning.

He surveyed the tired eyes of his students, downed his coffee, and began to discuss World War Two. He was lost in the topic when the door burst open. He turned in surprise as the door slammed against its hinges, and an unfamiliar teenage girl strode into his classroom. Her entire image screamed ‘rebellious’, from the ripped black jeans and leather jacket, to the challenging scowl in her eyes - lined by thick black eyeliner.

Coulson always did his best to not judge his students their appearance and squashed down his first impression that she was trouble.

“Mr Coulson?” she asked, tone irreverent and sounding mostly bored. She adjusted the worn backpack on her shoulder, barely acknowledging the curious looks the rest of the class were giving her at the abrupt intrusion.

“Can I help you?” Coulson replied politely, wondering if another teacher had sent her to request textbooks.

“I’m new here,” she explained, “The lady at the desk – Miss Jane something – said she sent out an email.”

“Oh!” Coulson exclaimed. That did make the most sense. He scurried over to his desk, quickly checking his emails, conscious of the interruption to his lesson. The girl waited impatiently, worrying her lip and booted foot tapping the floor. It seemed Mrs Janson had sent out an email five minutes ago, providing a very brief detail of the schedule of a new student. Mary Sue Poots. GPA 0.8.

“Well okay then Mary, if you could-”

“Skye,” she bit back vehemently, scowling as she crossed her arms, “My name is Skye. I told the lady.”

Coulson glanced back to the email. Underneath the scan of Mary’s paperwork was a capitalised scribble of the word ‘Skye’. It had clearly been written in a haste and had been underlined multiple times. 

“Right, Skye,” he amended, “Please take a seat next to Fitz.”

He gestured to the only empty seat to Fitz’ right. Fitz looked almost scared of Skye as she flung herself into the seat, dumping her bag onto the floor and immediately burying her head down on her arms. Clearly, she had other plans than to listen to the lesson.

He decided not to say anything about her behaviour, resolving to continue the lesson as before. Skye was new to the school and she was probably just having a bad day.

**

Skye was having a really bad day.

She wouldn’t have been able to concentrate on the stupid lesson even if she had tried. Not only because the strict Asian woman was prattling on in a language Skye couldn’t read, couldn’t write and definitely couldn’t speak. She didn’t know why the idiots that ran the school thought she should study godforsaken _Mandarin._

No, Skye couldn’t concentrate because she was tired, she was hungry, and she was pissed off.

Her old school in the area, Lincoln High, had expelled her last week. She wasn’t surprised in the slightest. She had been kicked out for far less than getting drunk on school property. Admittedly she usually lasted more than 4 weeks. She couldn’t say she was sorry, but she did have a few regrets. Mainly the way her body ached, and it hurt to breathe. Her foster father had not been happy.

She had been informed last night that Carter High would be her new school, with a crumpled-up piece of paperwork shoved into her hand and a string of threats to behave. She didn’t own a phone, and she had been too afraid to ask Garett where Carter High was. 

She had thought it would be in Thorbridge, the town where Garett lived - like Lincoln High had been. That hadn’t been too bad, only a twenty-minute walk from the house. Thorbridge was still a fairly big town, but the brusque dog walker she asked for directions this morning told her it was in the next town over: Rogersfield.

She had never been there.

It was four miles away.

**

By lunchtime Skye had made herself very well known. Despite Coulson’s best attempts to keep his impressions neutral, in four short hours she had become the talk of the staffroom and it was evident she intended to push every boundary and ignore every rule.

He was already tired of hearing the bemoaning of Sitwell and Hand, only half-listening as he shuffled through a stack of lesson plans. May emerged from the kitchenette, wordlessly handing him coffee in his Captain America mug, and joining him on the worn couch.

“Good day so far?” he asked, cradling the liquid energy. She raised an eyebrow.

“Hardly,” she replied, voice even but he knew Melinda well enough to hear the tired sigh underneath.

“New kid getting to you already?” Hill, the Vice Principal interjected, pulling up a chair opposite. She gestured to the arguing staff, “I’ve never even met the kid, but I’ve already had an earful of complaints from Sitwell.”

“She seems…spirited,” Coulson acknowledged delicately.

Hill scoffed, “Hand gave her a detention for arguing over her name and Sitwell gave her a detention for calling him, and I quote, ‘a bald-headed slimy bastard’.”

May smiled a little over the lip of her mug of green tea. Coulson had to agree.

“She’s new, give her time to settle,” Coulson offered.

“She’s trouble,” May stated, but returned to calmly sipping her tea.

It was nothing she couldn’t handle.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Coulson makes a mistake, but suspects there might be more going on with Skye

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: Injury, child neglect (starvation), swearing

May loved Phil for his optimism and faith in his students, but every teacher could sniff out a troublemaker from a mile away and Skye was full of it. There was not a single after-school detention slot this week that Skye had not been sent to. If she felt in the mood to turn up to detentions that is.

Skye didn’t seem particularly inclined to turn up to anything. She didn’t even turn up to some classes, mainly gym class, which May co-taught when they needed extra help. She had been placed in her Mandarin class too, which was a complete waste of time because Skye would never be able to catch-up to the rest of the class. She couldn’t even read basic Hanzi. She had a sneaking suspicion Principal Mace had placed Skye in her classes either because he thought Skye’s potential heritage would help her (absolute bullshit) or because he knew May would be able to tolerate a bit of backtalk.

She glanced over her class as they completed a test – as _most_ of them took the test. Skye had her head in her hands, looking out of the window at the big oak tree that had gathered a nice collection of leaves. She was wearing the same leather jacket, jeans, and heavy make-up she had the rest of the week. May frowned, if she thought Skye would listen, she’d tell her that the weather was going to be getting colder soon and she’d need to change it up a little. Of course, if she thought Skye would listen, she’d tell her to do her classwork and stop insulting her teachers.

May called the time and the class groaned, some frantically scribbling last minute answers. She did her rounds, plucking up each test paper. Skye didn’t even glance in her direction as she picked up her blank sheet of paper.

May almost felt bad as she slapped a great big F against Skye’s grade. The odds were against Skye from the beginning, but then again Skye had made Hand cry yesterday. So, she only felt a little bit sorry for her.

**

Coulson did his best to make history as exciting as possible, but he knew when he’d lost the room. He sighed; glazed eyes of his juniors stared back at him; one kid yawned at the back; another was doodling in her textbook. Skye wasn’t even awake. He had already urged her to stop falling asleep in his classes, but she would just shrug and ignore him anyway. May said she did the same in Mandarin.

He sighed internally and continued his presentation, when an idea struck him, and he internally pat himself on the back. The bell rang – Skye jerking awake with a glare.

“Since I can see you’re all riveted by this topic,” Coulson said sarcastically, “I thought I’d set you all an assignment. I want you all to make a family tree and a little bit of a biography. We’re all a part of history and who knows? Maybe you’ll find you’re the predecessor of a war hero. If you wish, you can present to the class for extra credit.”

Skye’s glare was directed at him this time. She seemed particularly annoyed by the assignment, if the hard set of her jaw and her crossed arms were any indication. Although, of course, Skye was always angry.

Kara raised her hand, “Yes Kara?”

“What if we can’t find out anything?” she asked.

“Don’t worry about any gaps. Guardians and any googled history all count,” he answered with a smile, hoping it covered all possible bases. Skye rolled her eyes, but Kara seemed appeased.

**

Skye had only managed to get into a fight with another student, Raina, once in the canteen – Hill called her ‘the biggest headache she’d had since Romanoff’ – by the time the presentations rolled around. (Hill had broken them up before it got physical and sentenced Skye to even more detentions. She had tried to contact a parent, but the paperwork needed updating).

Jemma had gone first, and Coulson was as proud of her work ethic as ever. She wrapped up her extensive English family history presentation with a beaming smile, clutching her thick binder to her chest. He sent Jemma back to her seat with ample praise and glanced around the room.

“Skye?” Coulson called out to the girl who had spent the past ten minutes glaring at everyone as they presented their family history projects, “Do you want to share your project with the class?”

Skye raised an eyebrow at him, storm brewing in her dark eyes and her jaw clenched. He could swear there was the hint of a purple bruise on her forehead, but it could have been a trick of the light.

“No,” she bit out, folding her arms, “I don’t.”

“If you don’t want to present, could you come up and hand me your project then, please, Skye?”

Skye kicked her leg out, hitting the table leg which juddered with a screech, and tilted her head. Coulson knew that look. That look on Skye meant trouble.

“I didn’t do it,” Skye shrugged, leaning back in her seat as she challenged him, “Piece of shit homework anyway, like, who gives a shit about some English castle.”

Some students snickered. Coulson caught Jemma’s hurt – and embarrassed – reaction. Anger flared in his chest. How dare she mock one of his students like that?

“If you don’t feel inclined to put effort into your work, fine, but don’t mock others for their hard work,” he admonished, voice harder than normal, “See me after class.”

Skye kissed her teeth, and he could see her gaze flicker to the door. She was a major flight risk and he moved closer into the aisle, blocking her escape route subtly as he called on Fitz, who meekly handed him a short portfolio. Coulson shot him an encouraging smile.

When the bell rang, signalling the start of lunch, he made sure Skye was still planted in her seat as everyone else shuffled out of the room. He approached her, leaning casually on a desk a few feet away. She watched him like a hawk but didn’t make eye contact.

“Skye,” he began, “Could you please explain to me why you didn’t do your assignment?”

She shrugged. He sighed. He tried not to let her apathetic behaviour get to him, but it was a challenge when every conversation was like talking to a brick wall.

“Can I request that you don’t humiliate other students in my class?” he said, softly. Skye looked at him then and then looked away, but she did appear somewhat remorseful. At least that was something.

“I can extend the deadline,” Coulson offered, “But I want you to do the work I set you. Even if you struggle with an assignment, I’d rather see half a project than none at all.”

Skye narrowed her eyes. “Fine,” she relented, “I’ll do your stupid project.”

“Thank you,” he said, although the look on Skye’s face wasn’t exactly one of co-operation.

She reached into her backpack and took out a ratty notebook that looked like it had been through the wringer, tearing a piece of paper. She grabbed a pen, scribbled something and thrust it back at him, “There.”

He picked it up. It was just her name, circled and written in the middle of the page. He frowned, “I’m being serious Skye.”

“So am I.”

“I saw on the register, you have a surname, right? Could you at least research the history of the name if you don’t want to fill out a tree?”

Skye snatched the paper back, scribbled some more lines in her messy scrawl and shoved it at him. She began to gather her things. Coulson picked it up. His face fell as he read the solitary sentences, momentarily stunned.

It read: ‘ _The history of Poots goes as far back as when some nuns at an orphanage decided to give it to a baby they found. The nuns were terrible at naming babies.’_

“Oh,” Coulson managed to reply. Skye was already on her feet, backpack slung on her shoulder, the pen she always seemed to lose shoved into in her pocket.

“Do I get an A now?” she snarked, foot tapping anxiously against the floor.

“I’m sorry,” Coulson said, whole heartedly. He saw the momentary flinch that crossed her face, the dark storm in her eyes still brewing. There was a vulnerability there that he had missed before.

She didn’t dignify him with a response, she simply turned on her heel and stormed out of his classroom with a slam of the door.

Coulson had never felt so terrible. He was kicking himself, of course she wouldn’t like listening to other students talk about their family history. He had just rubbed salt into an open wound and laughed in her face.

Somehow, later hearing his colleagues moan about her picking verbal fights in class or missing homework felt just a little bit… wrong. It wasn’t like he owed her special treatment for her tragic start to life, but he couldn’t help replaying the interaction, guilt overpowering him.

It was the pained look in her eyes that plagued him when he tried to sleep that night.

**

Principal Mace had decided that there weren’t enough hours in the evening to keep-up with Skye’s detentions, so had proposed a lunchtime arrangement. The other teachers couldn’t fathom what had compelled Coulson to volunteer to run them. Hand had told him he was a saint, May had simply shrugged – knowing he secretly preferred to be away from the constant gossip. Sometimes.

Even Hill had thought Skye would give him hell for it, but apparently, she didn’t give her enough credit. Skye had simply arrived at his classroom at the start of lunch, took her seat and started on the worksheet he’d set out for her. It was one of the rare times she voluntarily did any schoolwork.

It was quite a companionable silence. He graded the latest papers and only the quiet squeaking of her scuffed boots against the floor betrayed the fact she was even there.

They were already 30 minutes into the 50-minute lunch break when Coulson’s stomach grumble reminded him to eat. He pulled out his sack lunch, eager to try the new sandwich fillings May had made last night. Alongside his favourite chocolate bar, of course. Skye’s head whipped up from the desk when he unsnapped the Tupperware, but she glanced back down quickly.

She almost looked guilty.

He frowned, Skye hadn’t taken out a sack lunch or asked to go to the canteen yet.

“Skye?” he called out.

“Yeah?” she replied, looking up to him, pen tapping against the desk. She worried her lip between her teeth, and there was a tired, resigned look in her eyes.

“Would you like to go to the canteen to get lunch? You’re allowed to take a few minutes,” he suggested.

She shrugged, glancing back to her paper and picking up her pen, “I’m not hungry, sir.”

He frowned again, “You should eat.”

“Don’t tell me what to do,” Skye retorted harshly, but she tensed and hastily added, “Sir.”

He might have laughed at the juxtaposition if he weren’t mildly concerned. He wasn’t entirely sure what the protocol was in this situation.

“If you didn’t bring lunch, I’d really like you to go to the canteen to get something,” he stressed, “It’s my responsibility to make sure you eat.”

Skye sighed, and he saw the way her jaw clenched in a (now very familiar) way that indicated she wasn’t going to give up without a fight.

“I don’t give a shit about your responsibilities,” Skye scowled, her grip on her pen tightening as she scribbled another line.

He knew by now she swore to get a reaction out of her teachers and to divert the conversation from whatever else she was doing, but he wasn’t going to let her this time.

“Please don’t use that language with me,” he responded calmly, “This may well be a lunchtime detention, but food is vital for learning, especially a growing teenager. I insist that -”

“Fine,” she snapped, pushing back her chair with a screech. He sighed; it had been going so smoothly. At least he seemed to have won that fight, and she was leaving for the canteen.

He realised that perhaps the reason Skye was happy to spend her lunchtimes with him, was because she didn’t have any friends in the canteen. That saddened him a lot. Sure, Skye was abrasive and rude, but no kid liked to be alone.

He turned to the computer once she’d left, pulling up her file. Besides the short introductory email, there was only a crumpled scan of a form filled in with the bare minimum details. Skye’s GPA, an interesting email address ‘jg.deathlock’ and the name John Garett - guardian. He frowned, there wasn’t a lot on there, not even a phone number. The file had a few attachments, each with a different school name and even a different state sometimes, but all of them were transfer papers. It seemed Skye didn’t stick around at any school for very long.

From the way the staff were rallying to have her suspended, he wasn’t surprised.

She returned ten minutes later, taking her seat again and starting up on the paper. He didn’t dare push her for more conversation, in fear of Skye never turning up to his detentions again and he settled into the silence.

*

Unbeknownst to Coulson, Skye had not been to the canteen. She had gone to the girl’s restroom, found a stall and waited it out. She was glad to not have to sit in that room and watch Mr Coulson eat.

His concern was not misplaced. Her stomach _was_ sending shooting pains all throughout her body and she wouldn’t be surprised if it were eating itself. In fact, food was all she could think about some days.

She was starving, but there was nothing she could do about it.

She had no food to bring from home – Garett locked that up most of the time and kept an extremely strict inventory that would see her beaten for stealing a crumb. A sack lunch was never going to happen. Although some days she managed to sneak a cereal bar or two. Some days she stole food from people’s bags when they weren’t looking, or one time she queued up and slipped an orange from the fruit bowl when the lunch lady was distracted.

She didn’t do that often. It had been what got her expelled from Jefferson High last year when she was with the Sutters. ‘Theft of school property’ the principal had called it. The Sutters hadn’t allowed her to eat much either.

Most of the time she avoided the canteen. The noise, the crush of people, memories of another bully in another canteen in another state, and God, the _smell_. The smell made her mouth water and her stomach churn. It was cruel.

The cheapest thing on the menu was at least a dollar. Skye didn’t even have a cent.

What was she supposed to do?

Beg for money? Beg for food? Skye wanted to keep the scraps of pride she had left.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Food restriction

The first time May was truly angry with Skye was on a grey Thursday afternoon, the atmosphere dark and gloomy signalling the approach of winter. Skye had been in a funk all day, refusing to talk, leaving lessons halfway. By the end of the day May was ready to go home and have a relaxing bath. That bath was all she was thinking about as she followed Coulson through the packed corridors at the end of the day. Until Skye collided with Coulson, the girl reaching her arms out to steady them, dropping the textbooks piled into her arms.

Coulson bent down to help, and Skye was apologising, flustered. Coulson was caught off guard but May _saw it_. It made anger bubble inside her chest. Skye had plucked the wallet straight from his pocket. May grit her teeth but didn’t say anything, wanting to see how this played out and confront Skye red handed.

May excused herself, telling Phil she wanted to get some groceries before they left. He had to stay behind to run detention anyway, something he was now in charge of, given that he seemed to be the go-to guy to handle Skye. Which was where Skye should have been but May was on her tail and she was walking out of the school instead.

May followed her, brow furrowing as the girl seemed to shrink into herself, trudging up the pathway. Her shoulders lost their arrogant sway, her head was focused on the ground. May could swear Skye was favouring one leg, an arm tucked in closer. May figured she’d reach her destination fairly soon, but twenty minutes later she was still following Skye up the path away from town.

She realised Skye was going to walk all the way to the next town over which was a good 4 miles. She was contemplating whether to turn back and cut her losses when they rounded on the small convenience store beside the gas station on the approach to town. Skye shrugged her shoulders, standing straighter as she approached, now cutting a more familiar profile.

It was hard to stay hidden from Skye inside the tiny shop but May quickly realised Skye wasn’t paying much attention. May watched, expecting Skye to head to the liquor cabinet. She pretended to do some basic shopping herself, observing as Skye took out the wallet and began to count the cash, including every penny, twice. May was grateful Coulson used his cards and didn’t keep much cash in hand. She could see Skye had about $25 to steal. This store wasn’t the cheapest, but it would be enough for some decent alcohol at any rate. Skye didn’t even glance into the liquor aisle.

May watched as Skye went to the beauty section and bent down, closely examining the feminine hygiene products. May felt suddenly very creepy, following one of her students into a tiny store to watch her buy tampons before she remembered it was _Coulson’s_ money Skye was shopping with. Skye looked put out but picked up the cheapest on the shelf.

“You. Out,” a man ordered.

May blinked. The male shop assistant, who had been turned away from the door when they entered, was suddenly in front of Skye. He had his hands on his hips and glared down at the teenager.

“I have money I swear,” Skye replied, voice defensive. She pulled out the cash from her pocket for proof. The shop assistant took the cash, holding it up to the light to check for fakes. May was almost offended. He handed it back with a grimace.

“Show me inside your bag,” he ordered.

Skye looked angry but did what he asked, showing the largely empty contents of her bag to him. The shop assistant, finding no real reason to kick Skye out, let her continue shopping but stood at the end of the aisle to watch. May gathered from the exchange that Skye was well known to the shop and could have potentially shoplifted before.

May continued her observation, watching as Skye gathered a 3-in-one bottle of shampoo, some off-brand pain relief, cheap bandages, a pair of socks, toothpaste, the tampons, and deodorant. Skye counted up the money again, paying extra attention to the item price tags. She ventured over to the deli section and stared at the food items.

She picked a bland looking sandwich, weighing it up in her hands. May felt her heart clench, watching as the young girl counted her money, and checked the price of each item. Skye looked torn between the pain relief and the sandwich, and with a forlorn expression she put the sandwich back into the fridge.

May hovered around a different aisle to get a better view as Skye approached the counter, placing her pitiful shopping haul onto the counter. The male shop assistant looked disinterested as he scanned her items.

“That will be $25.30,” he said.

May saw Skye’s posture tense as she placed her money on the counter, “I thought the toothpaste was on sale it says $2.20.”

“That’s the buy one get one free price,” he corrected, “You’ll have to put something back.”

Skye looked distraught as she stared at her items, “Can’t you just knock it off? It’s only 30 cents.”

“Company policy. Put an item away.”

May was about to step in and offer to pay for the remaining 30 cents, regardless of how Skye got the money, when a young female shop assistant beat her to it, emerging from the backroom with a large box of Twinkies. She set it down on the floor and raised an eyebrow.

“For god’s sake Krasinski,” she said reproachfully, “I’ll pay the 30 cents.”

She fished out 30 cents from her pocket and deposited them onto the counter. She winked at Skye.

“Thank you, Elena,” Skye said gratefully, scooping up the contents of her haul and into her backpack.

“Look after yourself, kiddo,” Elena said, eyes lingering in a silent exchange between them, Skye nodded and then scurried away as soon as Elena saw May and called, “Next!”

May quickly grabbed a random sandwich from the fridge before paying. She barely glanced to Elena and was soon rushing out the door, chasing behind Skye. Thankfully, Skye hadn’t gotten very far and was just nearing a grass verge. May rushed towards her and grabbed her by the backpack, wheeling her around. Skye immediately flinched, her hands coming up to cover her face. She was trembling.

May was momentarily shocked before she collected herself and let Skye go.

“I know you stole Coulson’s wallet,” May accused. Skye eyes widened.

“I don’t what you’re talking about-”

“Sit,” May said sternly, gesturing to the grass verge, “And I won’t press charges.”

Skye sat down hesitantly, eyeing May warily. She hugged her backpack protectively to her chest and May felt a stab of guilt. Skye obviously thought she was going to take away her items.

“I’m not going to take away your things,” May reassured her and sat down next to the girl. “I got you a sandwich,” May offered, handing it to Skye.

Skye looked sceptical. May shrugged, “I saw you eyeing it up in the store.”

Skye shyly took it from her but tore into the packet like she hadn’t eaten in days.

“What do you want?” Skye asked, straight to the point.

“When did you last eat?” May enquired, ignoring her question and watching Skye almost choke down her bites.

“None of your fucking business,” Skye responded harshly, but May didn’t miss the way she hunched over her food, like she was afraid May would rip it out of her hands. May was used to seeing Skye with arrogant confidence and a tongue sharp as knives, but this vulnerability was more shocking than any words she’d said to her.

“I paid for that,” May reminded in a calm, but stern voice, “And Coulson paid for the rest, and I’m not reporting you. Now I’m asking you, when was the last time you ate?”

Skye swallowed her mouthful, frown deep on her face. May thought she was going to deflect the question again, but she answered in a hesitant voice, “Yesterday.”

May didn’t like that she was proven right, she had been clinging to the hope Skye was just a hungry teenager. Sadness washed over her at the thought of Skye going all day without breakfast or lunch. She checked her watch, and it was already 4pm.

“When yesterday?” May asked.

“God you’re so full of questions,” Skye deflected again, tossing the wrapper. May picked it up calmly, trying to match Skye’s anger with her calm demeanour despite her mind running a mile a minute.

“When did you eat yesterday, Skye?” May repeated.

Skye tugged down her sleeves and hugged her knees, refusing to meet May’s eyes, “Breakfast,” she spat out bitterly.

May sucked in a sharp breath, betraying her calm demeanour for the first time. Skye hadn’t even bought herself that sandwich, and she wouldn’t have eaten anything at all since yesterday _morning_ if May hadn’t bought it for her. Skye had stolen money from Coulson so that she could buy herself necessities that her parents should have gotten her, and she hadn’t even been able to afford food after 21 hours without any at all.

“Where are your parents?” May questioned, almost afraid to hear the answers now. Skye stiffened.

“I don’t have any,” she replied, picking at her nails.

“Guardians, then?” May amended, “There must be someone looking after you.”

Although perhaps ‘looking after’ was the wrong word. No-one seemed to be looking after this child.

“I gotta get home before my foster dad starts wondering where I am,” Skye said, in lieu of an actual answer. She swiftly stood up and shouldered her backpack with a wince that didn’t slip past May’s notice. Skye dug into her pocket and threw Coulson’s wallet down near May, “Thanks for the food.”

May wanted to stop Skye from leaving, but there wasn’t much she could do. So, she had to watch her go, wondering what kind of situation her student was facing back at home.

This was also the first time May began to worry about her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed this chapter! Thank you for all the lovely comments and interest in the story! Nice to see you all here :)


	4. Chapter 4

**“** Skye didn’t turn up to detention again,” Coulson mused, as he put down his reading book. May peeked an eye open from where she was _trying_ to complete her pre-sleep meditation. She contemplated what to say. “You know, I don’t think she has any friends,” Coulson continued, pushing his reading glasses up his nose.

May sighed. Coulson seemed to have something he wanted to say and since they were on the topic of Skye….

“She stole your wallet today,” May said bluntly, deciding to just get out with it and tell him, “You didn’t drop it.”

“What? How?” Coulson wondered, mouth open with surprise, “When? I didn’t-”

“When she dropped her textbooks,” May answered, “She pickpocketed you. It was very well executed. She’s had practice.”

It worried her a lot. What kind of sixteen-year-old kid could pick a pocket with the ease of a professional? Why would she ever need to? Who had taught her that?

“How did you get it back?” Coulson frowned, sitting up straighter, “I can’t imagine she just gave it back to you.”

“I followed her,” May admitted, “Thought she was going to buy alcohol.”

“And…she didn’t?”

“No,” May answered, brow furrowed deeply. It still weighed heavily on her mind, hours after, “She bought essentials. Shampoo, things like that. When I confronted her, she gave me the wallet back. I said I wouldn’t press charges if she talked to me.”

“You got her to talk?” Coulson asked, almost more surprised by that than anything else May had just told him. Skye wasn’t forthcoming about anything.

“Not exactly,” May clarified, “She was hungry. I bought her a sandwich.” She turned to Phil then, giving him her full attention, “Phil, she said she hadn’t eaten since yesterday _morning._ ”

He frowned, “But that’s not possible. I sent her to the canteen at lunch. I always do.”

May shot him a knowing look. He had good intentions, but sometimes that meant he missed the obvious, “Phil, she stole $25 from you to buy herself _shampoo, toothpaste and a pair of socks._ I don’t think she’s been bringing money for the canteen.”

Phil’s face morphed from confusion to deep sadness, “Oh.”

May uncrossed her legs, abandoning the meditation. A sad silence settled between them as Phil realised Skye must’ve been pretending to go the canteen and May considered what to do about it. Neither of them considered ignoring it as an option, they might hate teaching at times, but this was what they signed up for. Helping kids who needed them.

“I’ll make you two sandwiches in the morning,” May decided, “Give one to her at lunchtime. Tell her you didn’t like the one I made.”

Phil nodded, flashing her a warm, but sad kind of smile, “I love you.”

May rolled her eyes but leant over to press a kiss to those dorky lips anyway, “I love you too.”

Coulson marked his chapter with a bookmark and put it down on the bedside table with a slow exhale.

“Let’s just hope she says yes,” he sighed, tracing a lazy hand on May’s hip.

“She will,” May assured him, “As long as you don’t make a big deal out of it, and don’t treat it like a charity thing, she’ll want to eat. We know she likes you, anyway.”

“We do?” Coulson wondered, surprised. It wasn’t as though Skye behaved much better in his classes than anyone else’s. She still talked back and slept and walked out and whatever else she wanted to do that day. Detention was the exception, but Coulson didn’t think that said much about Skye liking him. Tolerating him, maybe.

“How many times did she call Sitwell a bastard last week and how many times did she say that to you?” May pointed out, eyebrow raised.

“Good point,” Coulson assuaged. May was right, of all the teachers on staff, Skye didn’t insult him quite so much as the rest. Although that wasn’t exactly the sort of teaching achievement Coulson thought he’d celebrate.

May sighed, snuggled herself into his side, “You’re good with her,” she reassured him, “but we better hit the hay, or you won’t be able to get up.”

“Just because I’d rather sleep than see the sunrise,” Coulson huffed, but conceded at May’s stern look, “See you in the morning.”

“Goodnight,” May said with an air of finality, pressing a final kiss to Coulson lips before turning over and shutting off the light.

**

Coulson unsnapped his Tupperware loudly. Skye glanced up from May’s Mandarin assignment. May had given him a nudge this morning to remind Skye about it, although he had a strong suspicion that she was doodling on it. May was trying to give Skye basic worksheets in an attempt to get her up to speed, but it seemed like a fool’s errand.

Coulson picked up the two wrapped sandwiches, moulding his face into an expression of disappointment that he hoped was convincing.

“Urgh,” Coulson groaned out loud, picking up the extra saran-wrapped sandwich, he made a show of wrinkling his nose, “I don’t suppose you like PB&J?”

Skye furrowed her brow, shooting him an incredulous look, “You don’t like PB&J?”

Coulson shrugged, “Never liked it, do you want it?”

Coulson’s heart felt tight in his chest at the way her eyes lit up with excitement. She was quick to mask it with her apathetic scowl, but he saw it. It looked like hope.

“I guess,” she shrugged, trying to play it cool, “If you don’t want it.”

“Go ahead,” Coulson said, standing up from his seat – Skye’s dark eyes watching his movement before he gently placed the sandwich on her desk. He began to unwrap the other sandwich – some ham and pesto mix – even before he reached his desk.

He took a big bite, not choosing to comment as Skye hesitated.

“You sure?” she asked, biting her lip. He nodded, gesturing for her to go ahead.

“Melinda _thinks_ I like PB&J,” Coulson explained, spinning a small tale. He liked them quite a lot, but he could sacrifice the popular favourite for Skye, “I don’t have the heart to tell her I don’t. It’ll go to waste otherwise.”

She carefully unwrapped it, keeping her eyes on him as she took a bite, and then a few more. Her shoulders were hunched, as though squirreling it away from prying eyes – or hands.

He noticed that Skye didn’t make any moves to go to the canteen. So, May was correct. She wasn’t going there, and she was simply pretending. Next time he’ll have to find a way to give her something more substantial…

They finished up in comfortable silence, both returning to their work as they ate. Coulson glanced down at the rest of the nibbles in his lunch – he’d love to offer them to her as well, but that would be a little too obvious.

“Who’s Melinda?” Skye asked out of the blue, wiping crumbs off the desk, “Is she your wife?”

Coulson glanced up in surprise, Skye never prompted conversation – ever. He smiled, “Yes, she is.”

Skye nodded, crumpling up the wrapper into a small ball in her fist, “She makes a good PB&J.”

Coulson smile widened, eyes twinkling with amusement, “I’ll make sure to tell her that.”

“But if you tell her that, then she’ll keep thinking you like PB&J. Or you’ll have to confess that _you_ didn’t eat the sandwich,” Skye pointed out, “Won’t that make her upset?”

“Well, I suppose it might,” Coulson replied, “It seems you’ll just have to enjoy them for me, and we’ll keep it a secret.”

Skye nodded and Coulson realised she might have just tricked him into giving her more sandwiches in the future. Smart kid.

He was glad, he didn’t have to act anymore, and she’d get to eat.

“Do you need any help with the assignment?” Coulson asked, trying to get her attention back on the work.

Skye sighed, glancing down at the flower she’d just doodled instead of translating the foreign script, “I don’t know, do you speak Mandarin?”

Coulson hesitated, and then admitted sheepishly, “No.”

Skye snorted, “Great lot of help you’ll be then.”

Coulson rolled his eyes, “Smartass.”

Skye smirked and shrugged, “You asked...Phil.”

His eyebrows rose, “I’d prefer you not call me Phil.”

“Okay, _Mr C,_ ” Skye teased, the barest hint of a smile on her lips as she titled her head and tapped her pencil against her chin.

Coulson tried to keep a stern face on, but he couldn’t help his lips quirking up into a smile. Skye was joking with him! Skye had a nickname for him!

He tried not to look too excited, but he was ecstatic for the rest of the day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the lovely comments and kudos! Next chapter will be out really soon, just split up the writing over a few more chapters as it made more sense :)


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Physical violence, bullying, lots of swearing

All Skye wanted to do was finish up her homework, do her chores and stay out of everyone’s way. She sat at the kitchen table, trying to find a way to finish her history assignment without access to the internet. She had two textbooks in front of her, but she could only complete half of the work sheet. She supposed guessing the last few answers couldn’t make her grades any worse than they already were. She had to at least try, she owed Mr Coulson that much.

Christian thundered down the stairs, no doubt heading straight to the fridge and Skye’s entire body tensed. She had her only working pen in a death grip as he headed towards her. _Please leave me alone. Please leave me alone._

She saw it coming, but it was still agonising when Christian gripped her hair and slammed her head into the table. Her shaking hand crept up to touch her aching forehead, grateful it came away dry and not slick with blood. He laughed. She watched with slightly blurred vision as he unlocked the combination padlock on the fridge, taking out an entire pack of ham to snack on. She ignored the clench of her stomach. At least Mr C had been secretly giving her his sandwiches – the one’s his wife made for him that he didn’t like – they helped ease the ache a little.

“What are you working on, Poots?” Christian asked, sidling up to her, lips smacking noisily as he chewed like a pig. She swallowed around her nerves at his attention and refused to look him in the eye.

“Just my history homework,” she answered, voice struggling to sound level around her rising panic.

“’ _Just my history homework’_ ,” Christian mocked. He swiped the paper from under her hands, crumpling the sheet in the process and barked a short, harsh laugh.

“That’s not how you spell Republican you fucking idiot,” he spat and before she could even blink, he had torn the paper in two. Skye stared at the shredded remains, anger rising, her heart hammering in her chest with panic, fear, anxiety. She clenched her jaw. Her forehead throbbed where it had hit the table.

“God you’re stupid,” Christian continued, and Skye did her best to ignore him and the thundering in her ears as she gathered up the paper, “No wonder no-one wants you.”

It was a low blow and Christian knew it. Skye felt the tears prickling in her eyes and she willed them to go away.

She didn’t want him to know how much it hurt.

**

“I’m stupid,” Skye seethed, throwing her math sheet on the desk, putting her head in her hands. Coulson looked up from his marking and shot her a disapproving frown.

“None of my students are stupid, Skye,” he admonished, “I don’t want to hear you saying that about yourself.”

Skye shot him a glare, her jaw tight with anger. _Fuck it,_ she thought, _fuck this._ She stood up, chair scraping noisily as she swiped her pen off the desk and gathered up her backpack. She ignored Mr Coulson’s protests as she stormed to the exit, slamming the door behind her. She marched down the corridor towards the school exit, leaving behind both Mr Coulson and the stupid math sheet.

She was sick and tired of people telling her what to do. Tired of his kind eyes and calm tone.

It didn’t matter what the stupid history teacher thought.

**  
Skye did _not_ like English Lit. It was full of pretentious books written by pompous snobs and torn to pieces by people lusting after their ‘the sky is blue because the character is sad’ _bullshit._ (Ironically, if Skye had written an essay on why she didn’t like English Lit, she might have gotten a better grade).

The one thing Skye _did_ like about English Lit, was that a certain Jemma Simmons – academic genius, all round teacher’s pet, and British nerd – was not very good at it either. If that fact pleased Skye too much to make her a good person, then so be it. The world shouldn’t be able to bless one person with a stable home life, a genius brain, a gorgeous face _and_ perfect grades in everything. Skye thought that the world letting her fail at English, was a pretty good trade off. If only for the fact that Jemma so clearly resented it.

The girl in question refused to look at Skye, which was fine by her, considering that she didn’t want a Jemma-lecture for staring at her for the entirety of the lesson. Skye couldn’t help herself; the brit was gorgeous. In that adorable nerdy way and also, she had a great jawline, silky hair, and she dressed so _preppy._

Skye watched as Jemma scribbled out her last sentence, letting out a small groan of frustration. Skye smiled, watching as she scribbled another sentence, and crossed that one off too. Unfortunately, Raina, resident bully, had also noticed.

“It doesn’t have to be perfect Jemima,” Raina chastened, straightening her posture like a peacock trying to show-off, “You’ll never get anything done at this rate.”

Jemma frowned, and mumbled, “It’s Jemma.”

“What?” Raina asked.

“My name is Jemma.”

Raina raised an eyebrow, as if surprised that Jemma had the audacity to correct her.

“I was only trying to help,” Raina lied, keeping her voice innocent, “Seems like you need it. I suppose we can’t all be perfect at everything.”

Jemma looked visibly frustrated by the targeted comments. The teacher, Miss Hand, mostly left them to their own devices so she wasn’t paying any attention to them. She was one of those ‘read this book, write an essay and I’ll sit here and get paid’ kinds of teachers.

“Leave her alone, Raina,” Skye snapped. Jemma whipped around in surprised and looked startled to see that Skye was a few seats away, glaring at Raina.

“Oh, does poor little Poots have a crush?” Raina cooed, lip pouting in just the right way for Skye to want to punch it.

“Fuck off,” Skye said, “Go pick on someone who cares.”

“Oh but you do,” Raina countered, in that _infuriating_ sing-song voice she used, “I see the way you stare at Jemma all class long. Pining for what you’ll never have?”

Skye set her jaw, feeling the anger tight in her fists. Raina knew _nothing._ Skye knew in the back of her mind that Raina was doing this on purpose to get a rise out of her, but damnit it was working. It always worked. 

“The teachers want to expel you, you know,” Raina said, pretending to check her nails nonchalantly, “Good riddance I say, they never wanted you here anyway. Poor unloved Mary Sue will run along back to that sorry little or _-_ ”

Skye stood up, knocking her chair back as she grabbed Raina by her jacket, stopping the words from leaving Raina’s mouth. Skye felt unchecked rage fill her chest, cloud her vision. H _ow dare Raina bring that up? In front of Jemma?_ Raina’s breath hitched – _good,_ before her eyes lit up in a challenge.

“Wouldn’t want to give them a reason to kick you out,” Raina goaded her. Skye wasn’t listening.

She threw the punch.

**

“That was appalling behaviour,” Principal Mace snapped, “I should have you expelled.”

Skye crossed her arms. Raina had a fat lip that had become split and bloody, but that was all. She sat in the corner, looking so very sorry for herself. Miss Hand had broken up the fight immediately. It hadn’t even been a fight. Raina had simply looked at her with a glean in her eye and acted like Skye had bludgeoned her with a hammer.

Skye knew from experience, that the punch had been fairly light. Raina could still see, and she could still move her jaw.

“As it stands,” Mace said, “I can’t expel you, as I am legally obligated to keep you here, but let me make this very clear. We do not tolerate violence, do you understand?”

Skye nodded. Raina looked very smug.

Mace handed out the usual punishment: detentions. Very unoriginal. He promised to contact Garett, but Skye knew Garett deliberately ignored his emails. It was a very good thing that Garett didn’t care about her schooling, or she had no doubt she’d be dealt a far worse punishment by his hand.

It was bad enough already because Skye was always in trouble.

Skye was simply a bad person. Bad things happened to bad people; good things happened to good people. And Skye knew which one she was.

When she was under 6 the nuns had been very hopeful. She was championed as a good pick to prospective parents. Her picture – adorable, chubby cheeks and bright eyes – was in the front few pages of their magazine. She was ‘intelligent, curious, full of life’ and although life in an orphanage was far from perfect, Skye was relatively happy. Well behaved. At 6 the Malick’s had fostered her with the aim to adopt.

A different child returned. Anxious, wary, violent, and so foul-mouthed the nuns were ashamed to introduce her to anyone. She was shunted to the back of the magazine and her paragraph description became one sentence: ‘Available for adoption’. Three words you’d find in an animal shelter. She was moved to the older girl’s bunk, the coddling stopped, and the berating started.

She went to bed with the taste of soap in her mouth and the constant reminder that she was not worthy of love. 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: rape implications (nothing explicit)

Skye had started a habit of catching up on sleep in class. It was warm, and generally safe. The teachers couldn’t do much with a class full of students and most people left her alone. She was usually close enough to the surface of waking that she could be alert when she needed to be. Sometimes though, the really embarrassing and scary times, she slept too deeply to pull herself back.

She never got a good night’s sleep at ‘home’. Her air mattress was ancient, and Christian had slashed a hole in the worn fabric which meant even her botched attempt to fix it with duct-tape barely kept it inflated for more than an hour.

As if the deflating mattress wasn’t bad enough, the blankets were all thin and scratchy and her makeshift hoodie-pillow was always lumpy. There was always a cold draught from the living room fireplace that blew over where she slept and sometimes the boys played on the Xbox for hours so she couldn’t go to bed. Some nights she couldn’t lie on her back, or her side, or her front and some nights there was no position that didn’t hurt. Some nights she simply wasn’t exhausted enough to close her eyes and let her guard down.

Some nights she lay on her side on a real mattress in a real bed under a real comforter, with arms locked around her torso, pressed tightly against another body. She would stare into the darkness, counting the seconds on the digital clock as warm breath blew against her neck and her limbs numbed because she was too afraid to move. On those nights she didn't sleep at all.

**

Coulson ended his class as the bell rang. Students sprang from their chairs, eager to escape to their next lesson. Chairs scraped noisily against the floor, but Skye didn’t lift her head from the crook of her arm. The cacophony of movement was usually enough to startle her awake if she was napping but she didn’t even twitch.

Coulson could see the soft rising and falling of her shoulders, indicating that she was pretty deep asleep. He sighed, smiling at the students that shuffled past as he made his way to her desk. Fitz was packing up, eyeing Skye as he shoved his notebook in his bag.

“I think she’s asleep sir,” Fitz said, helpfully. Coulson nodded.

“Yes, thank you Fitz,” he said.

“D’ you want me to wake her?” Fitz asked warily. Jemma hung back waiting for him, looping her thumbs through the straps of her blue rucksack.

“No that’s alright, you run along now, best not be late for your next class,” Coulson urged, “Please keep the door open on your way out.”

Fitz shuffled past, Skye didn’t flinch, even as the next bell rang.

“Skye,” he called softly, knowing it was unlikely to wake her. She didn’t move. He reached out a tentative hand on her shoulder, shaking her lightly, “Skye. Skye wake-up.”

Skye shot up, breathing heavily as she took in her surroundings, she looked panicked. Coulson couldn’t be sure under the heavy make-up, but he thought he could see deep circles under her eyes. She turned to him, cringing away from his hand and he dropped it back to his side.

“Sorry I startled you,” Coulson said softly, “You okay?”

She nodded, eyes still wide as she mumbled, “I should,” she drew in a deep breath, likely fighting against a pounding heart, “I should get to class.”

“Is there a reason you fell asleep today?” he asked gently, “Is there something going on at home?”

Skye simply shook her head, blinking her eyes open as she grabbed her backpack.

“Okay,” Coulson said, accepting Skye’s non-answer, “If you need anything let me know. I’ll see you at lunch.”

Skye nodded, giving him a wary look as she hurried out of the class as fast as she could.

*

Coulson wandered down the empty corridors, on his way to May’s favourite classroom to de-stress with Tai Chi after a hard day. It had been pretty rough. He had heard Skye made trouble in her class – answering back to her rudely and got in a verbal fight with Raina that May had diffused before Skye threw any punches. This time.

Typical school day with Skye, it seemed. There was a growing staff movement to have her expelled, or at the very least suspended. He didn’t think that would help her at all. There were 20 schools on her record. _20_ and many from entirely different states. He had never seen a child move between so many schools.

He could hear the faint booming of heavy metal music from one of the classrooms down the corridor. He frowned, this wing wasn’t used often, which was why May chose it as her hide-away. The sound grew louder as he approached, coming from a classroom that had been abandoned ever since the computer broke last year. They didn’t have the funding to fix it yet.

He crept up, not wanting to be seen and peered inside the little window in the door. The room was dark, music blasting from the speakers. His mouth widened in awe at the code running on the projector, scrolling far too fast for him to make out. The words projected slightly onto the concentrated face of Skye, who was hunched over and typing – her fingers flying across the keyboard. Evidently the computer was _not_ broken. She opened a new browser…was that _the NSA_?

He knocked on the door. She didn’t notice. So, he opened the door. She jumped, head snapping to him immediately. She closed the browser hurriedly, like a child caught in the cookie jar. The music stopped. She ducked her head, shoving a thick coding book into her backpack.

“What are working on?” he asked, leaning casually against the doorframe, trying to make his voice sound curious and not surprised or prying. She stilled, “Looks complicated.”

“Nothing,” she said, fingers twitching, “Just some dumb project.”

He raised an eyebrow, “Looked pretty smart to me.”

A small smirk flittered across her face, barely a second before her frown returned, “You wouldn’t understand.”

A genuine smile cracked his face, “Humour me.”

She cocked her head, studying him. He kept the door open but moved inside, taking a seat on a desk.

“Well,” she began slowly, “I’m building a Malware program to decrypt the NSA’s RSA implementation. Of course, it won’t work unless I find an access point and I can’t do that unless its physically in the system because you know, NSA and all. But I’m hoping if I can program this bad boy to decrypt a more advanced RSA implementation, I can run it on a less complex system, say the state police department. I’ve already been inside their networks, but they run simultaneous encryptions that make access to certain files hard to obtain.”

Okay, she was right, that went way over his head. He suppressed his concern that she wanted to access files from the state police department. She didn’t need him to lecture her right now. Knowing Skye, she’d do it anyway, but be far less amenable about it.

“How’d you fix the computer?”

She scoffed, a disbelieving expression on her face, “I just told you all that and you want to know how I fixed a computer from 2010?”

Coulson shrugged helplessly. She sighed and shot him a smile he’d never seen on her, “I turned it off and back on again. Re-installed windows and removed the virus that the last user downloaded.”

He resisted commenting that if she was this smart, then why was her GPA so shocking, but it didn’t actually surprise him. He had always suspected her of being far more intelligent than her grades implied. She had never stayed in one school long enough to build grades, and he suspected, had never had anyone believe in her either.

“We run an extracurricular program called SHIELD Gifted,” he said, “It’s for gifted kids. Fast track to college, best in class gets accepted into SHIELD Academy. Its project based, very well respected, students get recommended by a teacher and approved by the program co-ordinator. We started a week ago, but I’m sure they can make an exception for one very talented student.”

Skye scoffed and pointed to herself, “You mean me? You’re joking, right?” She caught his very serious expression, “You can’t be serious. My GPA is 0.8. I’m failing. I’m not going to be accepted onto some government ass-kissing course for ‘gifted’ students. That’s for straight A nerds like FitzSimmons.”

“Like I said, we can make an exception,” Coulson said, “I believe you’ll be very good at it.”

Skye contemplated, narrowing her eyes, “What do I get out of it?”

Coulson laughed, “Besides a chance to work on some great projects and the opportunity for a full ride scholarship to college?”

She nodded, unconvinced.

“Sometimes kids can earn money from their projects, SHIELD pays for the most promising. Things that could benefit the world for good.”

He could see the cogs turning in her head.

“Deal.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lots of sad, but she's with the programme now and hope is around the corner!


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Skye starts the SHIELD program and begins to fall for a certain British nerd

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oops it's been a month! Didn't intend to wait this long AT ALL, but life really caught up with me. To be honest I just really struggled with working out this chapter, and then I re-read my trusty plan and realised I didn't have to write nearly as much of this section as I'd thought! Next two chapters should come soon, since I already have about 70% or so written out. Although I'll warn you now, they are SAD.
> 
> (Also I've added rape into the tags, not because I'll be doing anything graphic, but because I'm super conscious that my work may still trigger)

**Warnings: Injury mentions, abuse symptoms (emotional instability)**

Skye deliberated outside the classroom door, adjusting the straps of her bag nervously. Her usual timetable scheduled her for gym class at this hour, and it wasn’t like she was going there anyway, but she still felt nervous of the change.

SHIELD sounded like a really fancy academic course, everyone in there was probably going to judge her for being stupid. She was five minutes late already, and being late wasn’t exactly knew to her, but she didn’t quite feel up for everyone staring at her as she walked in.

She spun on her heel, deciding to cut class and head for the janitor’s closet or the empty classroom like usual (both ideal hiding spots from the rather tenacious VP Hill). Yet as soon as she considered giving up, she felt the weight of Coulson’s disappointment settle over her. He kind of believed she’d be good in this class, and he was sticking his neck out for her (like an idiot), so giving up would be mean to the guy…. Except she didn’t owe him anything, but…

Maybe she can try. One lesson. If it’s terrible she’s never coming back again. She nodded to herself in the deserted corridor and twisted the handle to enter the class before she could have second thoughts.

A stern Black guy with an eyepatch stopped mid-speech to stare at her, placing his fists on his hips with a mildly disappointed expression. He was wearing some kind of leather trench coat, and did not look like most teachers she’d met.

“This is the SHIELD program,” the teacher said, “ _Not_ drama 101.”

Skye crossed her arms, _great_ they didn’t even expect her.

“Skye will be joining us,” Coulson cut in quickly, from where had been observing at the back, “She’s starting a little late but I’m sure she’ll have no problem catching up. Remember my email-”

“The expert coder,” the guy finished for him, he gestured to the class, “Well, take a seat. You’re lucky we haven’t assigned the teams yet, although you’ve missed your chance to propose a project.”

Skye shrugged, she didn’t care what they made, as long as it made money. She glanced around. The class consisted mostly of smart students she’d never spoken to, but vaguely knew their names. FitzSimmons were there, to no-one’s surprise. The blonde kid, Lincoln was there too, and the cute guy – Trip, who never seemed to drop the charming smile.

The class was only half full, so she plonked herself down in an empty seat at the back. God, she hoped she’d be paired with some decent people, or this will be hell. Coulson shot her an encouraging smile. She began to doodle on the desk.

If this does go to shit, she can just walk out, anyway…

“As I was saying,” the man continued, “Here are the projects we’ve greenlit…”

Skye listened half-heartedly at the fancy jargon and boring presentation slides on what projects the rest of the class had proposed. Medical robots, water filtration, plastic de-polluting machines…

Urgh, her back hurt. She could be catching up on sleep right now, but _no…_

“Skye, you’re with FitzSimmons,” the teacher (Fury, Coulson had called him – not Mr Fury, _just_ Fury). She perked up at the sound of name and glanced over to the pair at the front.

Fitz looked pissed off, his brow furrowed deeply, and eyes narrowed. Simmons’ smile was warm, if not a little hesitant. _Great._

“But sir we’ve always worked together as a pair,” Fitz protested, “Just me and Simmons. We work best that way.”

Fury shot him a glare with his good eye that even Skye would have gulped at. Fitz’s eyes widened and he looked down sheepishly.

“I suppose we could make an exception,” he mumbled. Skye didn’t know whether to feel smug or offended.

“Get to it,” Fury said the class, clapping his hands, “We don’t have all day.”

Skye slid up from her seat reluctantly, shuffling over to the desk next to theirs, depositing her notebook with a loud thump. Fitz cringed when she pulled out the chair and it scraped against the ground. He seemed to be refusing to make eye contact, but Simmons looked pleasant enough.

Simmons adjusted her thick binder in front of her, nervously. Skye glanced down at her ratty notebook and took out her one pen, feeling inadequate. She tapped it against the page, she was an imposter – a wedge between the two best friends.

She shouldn’t have agreed to this.

“So…” Skye started, feeling the tension thick in the air, “What’s the project about?”

**

Jemma couldn’t wrap her head around the fact that 1. Skye was in her SHIELD class 2. She was working on the dwarf drones with them, and most shocking of all was 3. _She was actually good at it._

Jemma had always considered that people, in general, were quite easy to classify into distinct categories. Just like phylum groups – there are chordata, anthropoda, polifera…In high school there are the confident people, the quiet ones, the smart, the sporty, the rebellious…

Of course, this system was not at all as scientifically reliable as biological categorisation, but nevertheless it was an easy way to navigate what was what and who was who. Jemma had no need to ask which one she was, the characteristics she and Fitz had displayed were distinctly nerdy and Jemma was not ashamed of it. It was important to analyse, classify and act accordingly when considering one’s status. Which was why Skye’s recent anomalous behaviour confused and frustrated Jemma in equal measures.

On the surface, Skye was a classic case of the ‘rule breaker’ or the ‘class disrupter’. Someone who Jemma had minimal time for, and who she had always ultimately dismissed as ‘not a viable friend’. A girl like Skye bullied girls like Jemma. Rule breakers typically viewed her academic prowess as a negative trait. Skye was plenty scary, what with her heavy make-up, swearing and fighting. Except Skye wasn’t mean to her, Skye had defended her against Raina. Which was confusing.

Even more confusing was how much she genuinely liked working with Skye. Jemma had been working towards her place on the SHIELD program since freshman year. How on earth _Skye_ got onto the program was a mystery. Fitz’s theory was that it was because Coulson had a soft spot for her. Even Fitz, as salty as he was to have to ‘put up with someone who doesn’t care about science’, had to admit Skye was scarily good at coding.

The dwarves had been their pet project for a year now, they’d been drawing up schematics and bio-scanning techniques together on their lunch breaks. It would revolutionise search-and-rescue missions, being able to find and diagnose victims. The only thing stopping them had been funding, materials and time.

Fitz was also salty that Skye had been assigned to their baby, as the ‘programmer’ since Fitz liked to point out that he could code it himself. Sure, he _could,_ but it would take him twice as long as it seemed to take Skye – her fingers flying over the keys. Besides, he was more of an engineer, which Jemma reminded him _repeatedly_ during his angry rants. Plus, Skye could program them a functional app and website, something that would add the extra edge to their designs.

Skye was also hilarious, and she didn’t look nearly as scary when she focused on coding and her tongue poked out of her mouth adorably.

Fitz had accused her of having a humungous crush on Skye, and Jemma had adamantly refuted the claim, however it wasn’t entirely inaccurate….

She generally scoffed at hot bad boy tropes. They only existed in unrealistic online romance fiction, those of which were riddled with grammar mistakes and terrible dialogue (stories that were also her guilty pleasure and she’d take it to her grave).

The bad girl and the nerd. It was far too cliché.

Jemma loved clichés.

**

“What’s _that_?” Skye asked, pointing to the strange food in Jemma’s cute little lunchbox. They’d taken to working on the project during Coulson’s lunchtime detentions, since he had no problems hosting them.

In fact, he was ecstatic to see Skye with a group of (tentative) friends. Fitz still looked at her liked she’d murder him in her sleep.

“Dairylea dunkers,” Jemma replied, surprised at Skye’s line of questioning.

“I’ve never seen lunchables like that,” Skye marvelled, turning the package over in her hands, “And I’ve had some shitty processed lunches in my time.”

“Language,” Fitz muttered. Jemma nudged him, annoyed at his constant jibes. Skye barely glanced in his direction, seemingly unfazed – she had accepted Fitz didn’t like her two study sessions ago. Besides, she would take Fitz’ hostility any day to spend more time with Jemma.

“They’re from the UK,” Jemma explained, cheerfully, “Would you like to try?”

Skye bit her lip, suddenly regretting opening her stupid mouth. She hadn’t asked because she wanted Jemma to share her food, she was simply curious as to what the hell she was eating. Now she didn’t want to seem like a thief, or selfish, or too eager. She’d already swiped Coulson’s sandwich off him, grateful he’d kept their deal on the downlow when FitzSimmons were here.

“Nah I’m good,” she muttered darkly, shifting her eyes back to her laptop. The SHIELD program had loaned Skye a nice, if not frustratingly slow, laptop and she loved it. Finally, she could do her homework, and their project _and_ she had time to do some research on her parents – not that she was getting anywhere with it anyway.

They had a big presentation coming up next week, one to show their progress and which determined their grade for the first planning stage of the project. They were storming well ahead, and she was working on some interactive power point slides, explaining all the coding she was working on. She didn’t dare take the laptop home with her, but it was great to have in school time.

They continued the rest of the hour in relative silence. Skye kicking herself for making it awkward.

She _liked_ Jemma, not just for her pretty face.

**

Skye spent all her lunchtimes, and most of her after school times with Jemma and Fitz. Even in English class – Jemma had swapped seats to sit next to her, even though it meant allowing Skye to constantly distract her from the work. Skye thought it was really cute the way she could get her to give-up on an essay by stealing her pen. Then get her into a deep conversation about the ethics of zoos, or hacking, or her future plans, and then Jemma would shake herself – chastise Skye, look down at her paper and look for her lost pen.

Jemma thought zoos were great in theory but lost too many were purely for-profit. Jemma thought hacking _could_ be ethical if the information stolen was in the public interest. Jemma was torn between choosing a degree in pure biochemistry or becoming a doctor like her mother. Jemma had scoliosis as a little kid and used to stargaze with her astronomer father (which was why her parents moved out here in the first place). Jemma loved Harry Potter and declared herself Ravenclaw with 100% certainty. Jemma hated getting in trouble, loved homework, and got flustered every time Skye teased her about it. Jemma hated it when Skye talked back to Hand, so Skye stopped doing it (well, she _tried)_.

Jemma didn’t treat her like a horrible person, or an orphan, or a criminal, she treated her like a… _friend._ Skye found she looked forward to the next day more than she ever thought she would here. It made the hard days, even harder, sometimes.

Skye had more bad days then good days. On Tuesday, she cried on the way to school – tried to put a damper on it but it was welled up in her chest like a soggy wad of paper and stuck in her throat. Her face felt hot and tears pricked her eyes and she just felt…hopeless.

She couldn’t get angry because Jemma greeted her at her locker. Jemma smiled at her and chirped about her day. She tried to feel numb too, but that wasn’t working either, because tears pricked her eyes and she wanted to sob, but she couldn’t because crying was weak, crying meant people asked questions.

So, she avoided classes, and she avoided Jemma until Wednesday when she could feel numb again. Jemma was hurt but understanding and Skye was grateful she accepted her weak excuses about hormones and a random story about her parents fighting or something. It worked, though, kids from stable households got awkward fast around talk of parent’s fighting or getting a divorce. Jemma was no exception. Which was good, really, when Skye wanted her to not hate her.

**

It got complicated on Friday – when they were together in the library. It was after school, but they were alone – Fitz had to go to some kind of swimming class his mom was forcing him to go to and Jemma had managed to convince Mrs May to let Skye study with her in the library.

Mrs May had simply smiled knowingly and allowed Skye to escape – Skye was more than happy to leave the boring silence and never-ending homework.

Skye showed Jemma another funny video on her laptop, focused solely on Jemma’s face to watch her reaction. Jemma laughed, nose scrunching up adorably and the sound made Skye’s chest swell with pride. She wanted nothing more than to make Jemma happy. The librarian told them to be quiet, so Jemma scooted closer – offering Skye her earphones.

They tried to suppress their giggles, which only made them laugh harder. Skye couldn’t remember the last time she’d laughed so hard, even if it did make her injured ribs ache. She could handle that, for Jemma. Jemma leaned closer, typing a new video into the keyboard and Skye’s breath hitched – heart stammering as the sweet scent of apple wafted over from Jemma’s hair. A strand tickled against Skye’s wrist.

When Jemma turned to Skye for approval, her face was only a few inches away. Her face flushed a lovely pink – surprised to find Skye looking at her like that. She bit her lip, and Skye’s pulse raced. Her lips looked so soft and judging by the way her eyes flickered down to Skye’s – it would seem she was thinking similar thoughts. Jemma had freckles – they were only noticeable up close.

Skye was never one to avoid risks and so counted down from 10, determined to lean in and close the gap on 1. She brushed a strand of Jemma’s hair away from her face on 5. Kept it lingering there on 4. Jemma’s breath had definitely stuttered on 3. 2. 1. She leant in, her lips just brushing against Jemma’s. Jemma startled a little, Skye panicked, but Jemma pushed back tentatively. Exploring. Soft. New.

Jemma pulled back first – the kiss decidedly chaste, but still enough for her face to be bright red. Skye smirked, but internally she was squealing ‘I just kissed Jemma! I just _kissed_ Jemma!’.

“Oh!” Jemma exclaimed, touching her lips reverently, “That was … new.”

“First time with a girl?” Skye asked, her lips still tingling too.

“First time, ever, actually,” Jemma confessed, ears still a little red. Skye smiled – at least Jemma wasn’t saying no. At least Jemma wasn’t saying she was disgusting or –

Skye’s happy thoughts clouded over, and she swallowed, looking away from the pretty girl. What the hell was she thinking? She wasn't going to be staying in this town long, didn’t _want_ to be staying in this town long, and she was getting attached to someone.

Stupid, and reckless, and idiotic, and stupid.

“Skye…?” Jemma said gently, reaching out to touch her wrist. Skye pulled her wrist back sharply, Jemma’s hands clasping over her skin in a way that didn’t feel good. Not anymore. Jemma looked hurt – again. Her eyes flickered down, and her brow furrowed in concern, “How’d that happen?”

“I kissed you,” Skye snapped harshly, “You know, my lips on your lips.”

Jemma looked even more upset. Of course, she did, Skye was an asshole.

“I mean your wrist.”

A sentence Skye dreaded hearing. She quickly tugged her hoodie sleeves down, but the damage was already done. In the excitement of kissing her crush, she’d forgotten that she wasn’t little miss perfect home life. Jemma had seen the rope burn circling her wrist, and probably the fingerprint bruises further down. She got to her feet, chair screeching loudly, and shoved her things into her bag, throwing down the earphones at Jemma.

What’s the point in making friends? When someone’s going to call CPS soon anyway, and the someone might even be Jemma. Pretty, smart Jemma who Skye had just kissed and then treated like dirt.

“Skye, please don’t leave,” Jemma pleaded, voice full of both distress and concern, “I didn’t mean to-”

“My brother’s an asshole,” is all Skye said, shoulder her backpack and leaving Jemma without a second glance – at least not one that Jemma knew about.

She’d seen her teary, shell shocked face and wished she hadn’t.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mama May picks up the girl caught in a snowstorm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic is sad, sad and more sad. May and Coulson are also peak parents here at least you can enjoy that xx

**Warnings: implied child abuse**

It was blisteringly cold. Her one good pair of socks were completely soaked as she waded through the two feet of snow in the embankment. The leather on her boots had worn soft and stood no chance against the heavy snow. She hugged her thin leather jacket closer to her chest, hiding her reddening hands underneath her sleeves try and get some feeling back into them. Her hair was drenched, plastered to her forehead. She was miserable.

Jemma had been quiet but polite all day, seemingly determined to forget the kiss had ever happened, but acting pleasant enough to allow them to keep working on the project. Obviously, Fitz had picked up on the tension between them or Jemma had told him, because he’d been giving her more dirty looks than usual. They still worked together at lunchtime, but not after school anymore. Skye reckoned they just went to each other’s houses instead. Driven by guilt over the whole thing, Skye had stayed later and work harder and forgot about the declining weather. Which was why she’d managed to get herself stuck in a snowstorm. She wanted soft, lovely Jemma back, but it was her fault they felt like strangers again.

She could see through the heavy sheets of snow that it would be another hour before she reached shelter. All she could do was keep her head down and keep walking, getting lost in thought to escape the chill in her bones. Various vehicles had rolled past her in the past twenty minutes, and she didn’t bat an eye towards the black SUV that drove by until it stopped a few metres ahead. She froze in her step, glanced around, but there was no-one else in sight. She glanced toward the forest. The passenger door clicked open. She held her breath and began to walk hastily down the steep ridge to the treeline just behind.

“Skye!” a familiar voice called out. Her head snapped up towards the female voice. Mrs May stood bundled in a parka jacket, waving her over. Skye glanced around again, slow to gather that May was talking to her, but of course she was. There was no-one else attempting to walk from Rogersfield to Thorbridge in a snowstorm.

May called out for her again, more impatient this time and Skye tensed but trudged back up to the road. She approached, blinking snowflakes out of her eyes as she faced the formidable woman. Skye bristled in preparation for another lecture. _What are you doing out in the snow? Why aren’t you wearing something warm? Do you know how dangerous it is? Where are your parents?_

Instead, May opened the backdoor to the SUV, “Get in,” she all but ordered, face stern.

Skye paused, mouth opening to form an argument, “Get in,” May repeated, “We’re losing heat here, it’ll drain the battery.”

Skye didn’t see a way out, and under the pressure of May’s impassive stare, she slid into the back of Mrs May’s vehicle. To her surprise, _Mr Coulson_ was behind the wheel. What was this? The world’s lamest kidnap crew?

“Hey Skye,” he greeted softly, throwing her his signature little smile.

May closed the door behind Slye, hopped back into her seat and closed the door with a soft thump. Skye tried to fold herself into as small of as space as possible, trying to avoid touching too much of the expensive interior. May reached to turn up the heating. It blasted out of the vents by Skye’s head, sending glorious waves of heat rushing over her numb face. It was almost painful.

“There’s a blanket in the back, and a towel,” May offered. Skye glanced around, locating the folded bright blue blanket patterned with mini black pawprints. She hurriedly wrapped herself up in it, and tried to dry her hair with the towel, more to save the seats from getting ruined by the dripping water than for her own comfort.

“Luckily, we washed those yesterday,” Coulson chimed in, surveying her through the rear-view mirror, “Bucky got them all muddy last weekend. I swear that dog would rather live in a bog than our nice clean, home.”

Skye glanced between the two teachers, huddling further into blanket, her finger stinging and barely able to feel the fuzzy fabric. Lucky dog to have such a nice soft blanket.

“You two, you’re married?” Skye muttered, fighting against chattering teeth.

Coulson’s smile widened, “That we are. Three years now, but we’ve known each other much longer.”

“Took him long enough to finally ask the question,” May chided, Skye winced at the possibility of bickering, but Coulson simply continued to flash May a love-giddy smile.

“So, this is Melinda,” Skye felt brave enough to conclude, pointedly ignoring May’s raised eyebrow as anxious butterflies swarmed in her stomach. May was decidedly _not_ the woman she had been picturing as Coulson’s sandwich making wife.

At least now May’s confrontation over the wallet stealing incident made a lot more sense, and Skye felt that little bit worse about the whole thing.

“You’ve been talking about me, have you?” May accused Coulson lightly, Skye bit her lip, worried now that she’d said the wrong thing, but Coulson simply shrugged.

“All good things,” Coulson said and threw Skye a wink through the mirror.

Skye really didn’t know what to feel about being in the backseat of her teachers’ car, her two _married_ teachers, besides awkward gratitude.

“Where do you live, Skye?” May asked, her tone was gentler than normal, but still had an edge to it that meant she expected an answer.

“Thorbridge,” Skye answered, rubbing her fingers together to try and encourage feeling again. She saw Coulson and May exchange a glance before Coulson indicated to pull away from the curb.

“Buckle in,” May ordered. Skye glanced around, numb fingers fumbling for the buckle as the car began to trundle up the path, safe from the cold. Coulson switched on the radio, and gentle jazz streamed from the speakers. May didn’t pry, unlike Skye expected. Skye turned her head to the window, watching as the snow frosted trees whipped past the window. Away from the harsh bite of the wind it was quite beautiful. She had always enjoyed long car journeys, watching scenery fly by. Time stopped when you were driving, there was nothing to do but wait in the moment between here and there.

She had been in many cars on many different journeys, seen scenery of 5 different states in the company of various caseworkers. Car journeys with foster parents were less peaceful – always yelling, young children screaming, pulling her hair, foster mom’s smoking, trash and tacky McDonald’s runs.

This car journey was peaceful, no-one spoke but there wasn’t any hostile tension. She remained alert, but she could imagine what it must be like to be a child of parents like Mr Coulson and Mrs May. _Safe_ – probably.

***

Coulson was in silent agreement with May that picking up one of their students from the side of the road wasn’t exactly model teacher-student behaviour but leaving Skye to walk four miles in a snowstorm (with barely a shred of clothing on her) was definitely worse. Besides, in their small town he didn’t think it would raise too many eyebrows. He trusted Skye wouldn’t report them, but he was also 70% sure that she wouldn’t report them even if there _was_ something to report. Which was reason 101 that he worried about her.

He glanced at her through the rear-view mirror. She looked soaked through, and he could see she was shivering a little. She must be very cold, but she didn’t complain, just looked out of the window as the forest passed them by. He wondered what she was thinking. He’d never had a daughter of his own, but he imagined this must be how it felt.

They approached Thorbridge, and he realised Skye hadn’t told them where in Thorbridge she lived. He and May had only been heading this way to go to Thorbridge’s bigger strip mall for some early Christmas gifts. May preferred to shop two months early and get the worst of it over.

May gave him her signature amused glare – the one that said ‘really?’ but didn’t disagree - as he drove into the Starbucks drive-thru. He jerked his head in the direction of the confused looking Skye in the back. May seemed to understand.

“Are you allergic to anything, Skye?” She asked, turning to face her. Skye’s frown deepened.

“Um...no, I don’t think so,” she replied, chewing her lip anxiously. He could hear the hint of teeth chattering underneath from her intermittent shivering.

“Do you drink hot chocolate?” May asked. Coulson smiled. May had always thought she wouldn’t be a good mother, but he could compile a binder for her of all the reasons she would be an excellent mom. Reason 1: she didn’t ask Skye if she _wanted_ one, because Skye (anxious and wary of adults) would say no.

“I guess,” Skye replied, non-committing as they pulled up to the service window.

“Two large hot chocolates with all the toppings,” he ordered, beaming as he thought of marshmallows and warm chocolate, “and a large Chai Tea please.”

Skye looked ready to protest at the order but didn’t speak up.

“Like father like daughter,” the server beamed as he handed over the hot chocolates topped with teetering whipped cream and fluffy marshmallows, “My wife never lets me give ours any sugar. She’s got us all on some diet.”

He didn’t bother to correct the server and simply thanked him before passing it to Skye who took it hesitantly in the back. As he pulled away to sit in the carpark, he noted she didn’t drink it but cradled it reverently in her hands.

“It’s yours,” he said, plucking a marshmallow off the top of his. Her frown deepened.

“I don’t have any money for this,” she said, familiar bite of anger in her tone, “I didn’t ask you to-”

“Drink it before it gets cold,” May interrupted sternly, as she sipped her own (boring) tea. Skye faltered, swallowing as looked down at the drink. She took a timid sip.

“Oh, it’s five thirty!” he exclaimed, drawing the attention away from Skye, “Can’t miss Captain America and the Avengers!”

Coulson tuned the radio to his favourite radio drama. May rolled her eyes, but a hint of smile graced her lips as the fanfare theme tune blasted through the speakers.

“Last episode on,” came the deep baritone voice Hunter liked to imitate, “Captain America! And the Avengers! Iron Man’s death bot Ultron declares war….”

“I forgot about Ultron! Can’t believe Iron Man would do that…”

Coulson babbled on through the episode, giving little tidbits about the story and enthusiastic reactions. May let him ramble, knowing that it wasn’t for her benefit but for Skye - who had relaxed a little. An unexpected rush of happiness? Pride? Flooded through her when Skye cracked a little smile around the lip of the cup during one of Coulson’s passionate hammer lifting mimes. 

They both pretended not to notice when a tear slipped down Skye’s face.

***

Skye lamented the loss of the deliciously sweet, and most importantly _warm,_ beverage as she swilled the last of the hot chocolate dregs around the takeout cup. She wasn’t sure when the last time she’d had hot chocolate was, probably the shitty diluted instant powder that St Agnes had as a treat, but it certainly couldn’t have been as nice as this premium – with _all_ the toppings – Starbucks stuff.

Coulson’s nerdy comic drama had ended by now, but the couple hadn’t made any attempts to move. Skye was glad, if she could freeze time and stretch a moment out as long as possible, it would be this one. She didn’t want to leave the warm confines of the vehicle and face the chilling weather outside, especially not now that she was a little less freezing. Then again, if it had been the height of a sweltering heat wave, she still wouldn’t have wanted to leave the vehicle.

She couldn’t squash down the panicked anxiety in the back of her mind, the kind that coiled around her lower back and stomach and wouldn’t let her relax. The longer she stayed, the later she arrived back, and she was already regularly pushing her arrivals to the latest minute possible before Garett arrived home. The longer she stayed, the less she thought she _could_ force herself to walk back into that house.

Mr Coulson and Mrs May weren’t her parents though. She didn’t belong with nice SUV’s and premium drive thru drinks and dogs with blankets softer than the one on her bed. Coulson restarted the engine and she sighed, trying to steel her nerves some more. _She was fine. She was numb. There are no feelings, she didn’t care about anything, it didn’t matter what happened to her, she was numb -_

Coulson parked up in the strip mall parking lot. Skye frowned…had they forgotten she was in the back? It wouldn’t be the first time…

“Come on,” May said, hopping out the front.

Skye glanced around, wondering if May was indicating her or not. Coulson stayed in the driver’s seat, waving her to get out the car.

“Oof it’s freezing out here,” May exclaimed as she bundled her hands into her insulated coat, and gestured for Skye to get out, “Hurry.”

Skye swallowed, sad to have to abandon the warm blanket in favour of the biting wind, but she obeyed and slid open the door, falling to the icy ground below. The wind immediately found a way to get under her skin. She supposed this must be her stop. She glanced around the lot, it was probably only a little far off her normal route…

“Come along,” May ushered again, jerking her head in the direction of the stores. Skye felt her frown deepen but she followed without question.

May led her through the blinding sheets of snow towards a clothing store she wouldn’t usually set foot in. It wasn’t exactly an expensive designer store, but it wasn’t goodwill either. The heat from the store immediately warmed up her cold limbs again. It was overwhelming, entering such a nice store. _Was May shopping for clothes?_ The thought that she was tagging along with May’s shopping spree made Skye feel immensely uncomfortable, but she didn’t want to voice that.

She was still shivering, but at least the chill wasn’t nipping at her skin. May marched onward as if on a mission, and she followed sheepishly behind. It was embarrassing how loudly her sodden boots squelched along the tiles behind the stern woman and she could feel the disapproving stares of soccer moms burning her as they raked over her dishevelled appearance. May led her through, expectantly weaving around brightly coloured racks of clothing toward a metal rack laden with an assortment of winter jackets on sale.

Skye hugged an arm toward her, unable to help her foot tapping anxiously as May shifted through the sales racks. She glanced to the clock, the hand ticking closer to her being late home and Garret’s anger. The ride had given her some extra time, but she was quickly losing it the longer she deliberated here with May. _How do you tell your teacher you’re not up for her weird shopping spree?_

“What do you think?” May asked, presenting her with a standard, thick winter jacket in black. Skye bit her lip.

“Uh, black suits you, I guess,” she mumbled out, cursing herself for not sounding enthusiastic enough as May’s expression tightened, “I mean, it would look great!”

“Skye it’s for you,” May told her, tone flat but gentle as she pressed it into Skye’s hands.

“I can’t accept this,” Skye protested, wide-eyed, “It’s too nice.”

She shook her head adamantly, gingerly holding the jacket like it would crumble in her hands.

“Well, you need a warm coat,” May argued firmly.

Skye didn’t want the tears to well up, so she bit the inside of her cheek, letting her face morph into a deep frown of anger rather than despair.

“But I can’t afford it,” she argued, “And I can’t let you spend this much money on me.”

May didn’t say anything but held out her hand. Skye passed back the jacket to her, thinking she’d gotten through to May, but she simply folded it over her arm and turned on her heel. Skye scurried after her, mouth open to protest, but May was in front of the winter boots section.

“Sit,” she all but commanded, pointing to the little stiff square cushion by the shoes. Skye folded her arms over.

“ _Mrs May_ ,” she said, hearing the desperation in her voice without meaning to let it seep through, “If you give me this…I-”

“Try these on,” May ordered, passing her a pair of sturdy black winter boots. Somewhat similar to her current pair, but well-crafted with extra grip and not falling apart at the seams.

“I am going to buy these items,” May told her sternly, as she stared down the teenager, “So either I waste my money on boots that don’t fit you or you try them on and make sure they do.”

Skye swallowed, balling her trembling fingers into a fist. A tight-lipped WASP turned her nose down at her from across the aisle, obviously judging her as an awkward, unruly daughter on a shopping trip. _Jokes on you_ , Skye thought, _I don’t have a mother._

May cleared her throat and she huffed, toeing off her boots. They dripped onto the floor and she cringed, damp socks touching cold store tiles. She unstuffed the tissue paper, sliding her feet into the boots. They were soft and snug against her toes. It was the right size.

“It fits,” Skye declared softly.

“Are you sure?” May asked, raising an eyebrow. She bent down, pressing on the ends of Skye’s toes like she was a five-year-old buying her first pair of sneakers. Skye flinched, knocking her foot back into the chair behind with a loud thump.

“Okay,” May agreed gently, letting Skye kick the shoes off.

Skye felt her chest squeeze tight as May gathered up the items, giving her a little nod before whirling around. She trailed behind the formidable woman, determined to keep pace with her fast stride before she could lose her among the many racks and aisles. She kicked her feet as May waited in line, stuffing her hands into her damp jacket pockets.

“Mrs May…” she found the courage to say as they shuffled closer to the front of the line, barely able to look her teacher in the eyes, “Thank you, but I just need you to know that…well…I don’t keep nice things for long, and I don’t want you wasting money on me, and I don’t usually get to stay so…”

“ _Skye_ ,” May said, in that same gentle but stern tone she’d used all day, “I will not be wasting money on you, okay? Even if these keep your warm for one journey to school, that will make it worth it.”

Skye felt her lip wobble, a million different replies dying on her lips before she could even say them. The cashier called them to the front and May paid. Skye’s heart unable to keep from sinking at the total but May didn’t bat an eyelid.

“Thank you,” she finally managed to utter, as she followed May to the exit. May paused, glancing back to her before she gave her a firm nod.

She wrapped the jacket around Skye’s shoulders, and that was that.

***

“You can stop here,” Skye called out, spying the familiar street go past, even through the thick snow still blanketing the road. She stuffed her new boots into her backpack, praying no-one would notice the sudden weight and thickness of the pack. She could at least blame that on textbooks, if anyone asked.

She took a deep breath, one second to savour the moment, one second to harden her mind. _She was numb, it didn’t matter what happened to her, it wasn’t important, it wasn’t real…_

“Is this your house?” Coulson asked, indicating the neat front garden of the house on the street in front of them. It had a nice car out front on the drive.

Skye bit back an ‘I wish’, although she knew better than anyone that looks could be deceiving. Some of the worst homes had looked like that. 

“Close enough,” She muttered instead, setting her shoulders, and slipping out of the door before they could ask more questions.

She could feel the weight of their eyes on the back of her neck as she trudged through the thick snow, toes instantly stinging as the cold froze them again. The jacket kept the worst off her of neck, and she was extremely grateful. Garett’s house was only a few doors down, and her breaths sped up as she started up the driveway.

_Open the door, step inside, no choice…_

Skye glanced up at the battered door and steeled her nerves. The doorknob was surrounded by deep gouges of the wood where Garett had tried to forcefully ram his keys in. The terracotta plant pots that the differing old lady next door over had given Garett as a gift were smashed in fragments next to the doorstep. _She was numb, she didn’t feel._ She pushed open the door.

“You’re late, Poots,” he sneered.

_Numb._


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short little chapter, but it made sense to put a little break between here and the next chapter.

Jemma was angry at Skye, and she was hurt, and ashamed and embarrassed. She felt scorned for leaning into the kiss, as though it was all some horrible trick by Skye to play on her feelings. She hadn’t told Fitz, although it had been nagging at her, pulling on her mind like a black hole sucking in every thought until all she could focus on was that moment in the library. She wanted advice, but she didn’t exactly have a pool of female friends to turn to. She loved her mother, but she certainly wasn’t going to go to _her_ with her relationship grievances.

She stole a glance at Skye from across the desk. There was a blank, resting frown on her face as she stared resolutely at the laptop in front of her. She didn’t talk, despite Jemma’s best efforts at cordial small talk, a decorum that had been drilled into her by her British parents. Skye would barely even _look_ at her. Jemma had noticed the new jacket that she never seemed to take off now, she’d even complimented her on it, but Skye had simply nodded in acknowledgement.

Her shoulders were hunched, she was wearing even thicker eye make-up than usual. So much so her eyes seemed to be swallowed whole by the black eyeshadow. She barely moved, and her expression barely changed between moody glare and a sort of almost…pained set to her jaw.

Jemma had a barrage of questions for Skye on the tip of her tongue, but she couldn’t bring herself enough courage to bring them up to her. She wasn’t sure where to begin. _Why did you kiss me? Do you like me? You have a brother? Why did he hurt you? Have your reported it? Are you okay?_

**_Are you okay?_ **

Despite her anger, and the hurt she’d caused, that was the burning question she had for her classmate. It was the one that she’d _almost_ voiced several times, but she’d stopped herself. Like any good scientist she’d gathered the available evidence from Skye’s stand-offish behaviour and concluded that she’d be snapped at for asking. Skye would probably lie, too. She wasn’t okay, that much was obvious, but Jemma was at a loss as to what to do about it.

They weren’t friends. Skye had made that clear enough.

Yet, something was wrong, and Jemma could not in good conscientiousness let it slide. So that was how she found herself waiting outside of Mr Coulson’s classroom at the start of the school day. She would prefer to go to him at lunch or after school, but Skye was with him at all of those times – serving out her never-ending detention sentences.

She yawned, regretting getting up early, when she saw him trudging along the corridor – breakfast muffin in one hand and a mug in the other.

“Jemma!?” he exclaimed upon approach, “What are you doing in so early?”

She ducked her head, crossing over her arms for comfort, “Um, I was just wondering if I could talk to you in private?”

A frown quivered on his brow, but his face remained pleasantly neutral, as usual.

“Of course, please come on in.”

It took a few seconds to unlock the door, ones in which Jemma ran through how she was going to approach the situation, before Coulson ushered them both through. He left the door ajar, Jemma glanced at it anxiously, but the corridors were empty so early in the morning.

“What seems to be the problem?” he asked, depositing his belongings on the desk.

Jemma knotted her fingers together before straightening her back, “I had a…concern to bring up to you. About another student.”

She caught the quick flash of concern and intrigue across Coulson’s face before he schooled his features into an open expression.

“What kind of concern? Is there someone hurting you or...?”

“No, sir!” she was quick to correct, “It’s not about me, it’s…it’s about Skye.”

His face fell, eyebrows pinched together tightly, and his mouth set in a line. He was still as open and as friendly as she’d expected of him, but something in his body language told her he might know more about Skye’s situation than he was letting on.

“What are your concerns?” Coulson asked calmly, leaning back on the desk.

“She seems upset,” Jemma broached, wincing at how feeble and lame it sounded as a case for concerns, “And…we were in the library. We were just working together,” she could feel the pink tinge blossoming on the top of her ears and switched into her scientific persona to try and distance herself and get the words out, “But I got a glimpse of her arm, and she had some worrying bruising. I conducted some superficial research, and they don’t seem like the typical sort of injuries one might expect from an accident. I asked at the time, and she said, ‘my brother is an asshole’.”

Mr Coulson looked genuinely troubled, but he fixed her with a reassuring stare.

“Thank you very much for coming to me with this Jemma,” he said, “I’m sure Skye would appreciate you looking out for her.”

Jemma scuffed her boots across the floor – Skye appreciating her tattle-telling to a teacher was a highly unlikely prospect.

“You won’t tell her I said that, right?” She rushed out, “I don’t want Skye to think-”

“Of course not, Jemma,” Coulson answered, “But this a confidential matter between us and the school. I will have to write up an official report for safeguarding, but you may be asked to provide a written statement.”

Jemma nodded, expecting this, and glad that at least Coulson was taking this seriously and not brushing her off.

“I’m glad you came to me,” Coulson reassured her, “You did the right thing. If you have any future concerns, please do not hesitate to come forward.” He paused, seeming to consider his words, “She needs a friend.”

Jemma nodded again, turning to leave. She wanted to be the friend for Skye, but Skye was an unreachable star. Burning bright but collapsing inward, repelling everything it touched.

**

“How is your SHIELD project going?” Coulson asked on a rainy Thursday.

Skye had been a storm cloud all day, dark, evolving and ready to lash out at everyone around her. The bad mood hung around her, affecting everyone. He didn’t see FitzSimmons at their detention time anymore, and he missed the levity they brought to the room.

Something had obviously happened between them and Skye, something that had brought up Jemma’s concerns. Her statement was added to the growing report he and May had been collating, a worrying list of signs that Skye needed help, but so far none of the faculty had taken any action besides swallowing up the paperwork into an overflowing inbox.

Skye shrugged, not looking up from where she was idly scribbling in all the spaces inside the letters of her history work. She’d not turned in any homework this entire week, not since their little shopping spree on Tuesday. He noticed she seemed to cling to that black jacket like a second skin, no matter how well heated the school was. He thought maybe they’d made a bit of a breakthrough with her, with the SHIELD program and their reassurances, but she was taking two steps back.

“Ready for the big presentation soon?”

“Yes.”

“Is everything alright with FitzSimmons?”

“Fine.”

There was definitely something there. His mind whirred, he wanted to know more but he could see Skye was not in the mood. They were quiet again, and the silence felt crushing.

“Where do you see yourself in five years, Skye?” he asked, glancing up from the textbook he was referencing, and bracing for her reply.

“On the streets or in prison,” Skye answered immediately and there was no doubt in her sullen tone. Coulson’s heart broke. She didn’t even consider that there were other options for herself, and he knew this wasn’t just because of her dark mood.

“Is that what you want?” Coulson probed.

Skye shrugged, not meeting his eyes, “They gotta feed you in prison, right?” she muttered, “Can’t be too bad.”

 _What do you say to that?_ Skye didn’t seem fazed by his flabbergasted response, returning to her worksheet.

“What about computer science?” he prompted, “Or working retail? You could help people fix their computers, like you do with me.”

Skye shot him an unimpressed look, “I’d need money, and a house, and I’d need to a diploma, and I need a GPA above 1.0 to get that.”

“I could help you,” he offered, very serious, “Pass your finals, get your diploma. Apply for college. I’m sure there are bursaries. If you take the SHIELD program seriously you could have far more options open to you.”

Skye glanced up, tiredness weighing down her entire demeanour. 

“It doesn’t matter,” she declared, “They’ll get rid of me soon. You don’t have to bother.”

She didn’t clarify who ‘they’ were. _The school? Her foster family?_

Coulson wanted to tell her that wouldn’t be the case. That the school wouldn’t kick her out and she’d get to stick around, but he knew those words would be empty. The school did want to expel her, and it was only the SHIELD program, Coulson’s insistence that she stay and issues with the district that kept her hanging on. He couldn’t speak for her foster situation, but nothing about it seemed positive and her school record told him she didn’t stay in one place for longer than a year - at most.

He was watching potential slip through the cracks right in front of him, crushing his teaching spirit and everything he stood for. She deserved so much more than this.

“I believe in you,” he said quietly, staring at her as if he could somehow make her believe it.

Skye sucked in a deep breath, and didn’t look up again as she muttered darkly, “Don’t.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone for the lovely comments!


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